


Waiting on the King

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alien Planet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Bones are taken hostage on a non-Federation planet. Jim finds himself waiting on Bones in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting on the King

The blade hangs in the air, about to fall upon their exposed napes, when someone shouts for the executioner to stop. Jim looks up in a panic, his heart threatening to burst through his chest from the rush of adrenaline that only comes with impending death (a feeling he knows quite well). He and Bones share a look of shocked relief.

"You must not kill them! This one bears the sign of Zutra!"

Jim furrows his brow, wondering what the hell is going on, when he sees a hand clamp onto Bones' shoulder. The crowd gathers closer to peer at Bones' back, and they point to the birthmark just below his ribcage, a trio of spots that Jim isn't sure he's ever noticed before. He swallows hard and looks around, registering everyone's murmurs of "chosen one" and "sign from above" and, in contrast, Bones' look of absolute displeasure as they all manhandle and prod him. Jim knows that if not for the giant machetes and spears in everyone's hands, Bones would be telling them all to get their goddamned filthy paws off of him.

"His arrival has been foretold!" the high priest shouts, raising his arms in triumph. "At last, we are in his holy presence!"

"What, he's chosen because of a _birthmark_? Hell, _I_ have a birthmark—it's right near my ear, you wanna—ow, _fuck_!" Jim lurches forward as pain blisters through him, thanks to the nasty swipe of the executioner's whip across his back. Better than his head getting chopped off, but it still hurts like a bitch.

"Jim!" Bones immediately reaches out to his best friend, no doubt to examine whatever welt or cut the whip left behind, but a pair of strong men haul him to his feet, pulling him away.

"He is no longer your concern, Chosen One. We all bow to you and only you."

The high priest sinks to his knees in reverence, and the others all follow. Jim can't even believe it. Do these people seriously think Bones is their _god_? He squints up at the doctor, the question of _what the hell?_ bright in his blue eyes. Bones gapes back at him, completely flustered by all the attention. Jim wishes their communicators were working so they could get the hell off this crazy orange rock and get back to the ship. That is, he wishes they hadn't been taken hostage and forced to watch as their communicators were destroyed. With giant stones, of all things, smashed to itty-bitty, unfixable pieces.

"Well…if you have to do as I say, then let us leave," Bones says, looking around.

"Nonsense," the high priest says, immediately getting to his feet. He guides Bones away from Jim by his shoulders, patting one and then immediately bowing, fearing any show of disrespect. "You belong here on Zutra V with your people. Our scripture predicted your arrival, and you will be the one to guide us from now on."

"Look, if you're talking about me being your king or something, I don't—"

"If that is what you wish, it shall be done! All hail the king!"

A rousing chorus of cheers rings out, and a small man scurries to undo the binds around Bones' wrists. Jim's binds remain, and he struggles against them with a grunt when he realizes they aren't going to let him up, even with all this King Bones stuff. Despite the distraction of the new, shiny leader, someone manages to kick him in his side when he's spotted trying to get out of the tightly knotted ropes. The pebbles on the ground scratch against his cheek and he winces.

"What about Ji—my companion?" Bones says. He turns around just in time to stop the guard from kicking Jim again, yelling, "Hey, leave him alone! That—that's an order!" The guard backs off and Jim would say something to express his gratitude, but it's more fun to lie on the ground and be in pain, just now.

"Your companion?" the high priest repeats. He shrugs after a moment's contemplation, waving a hand. "He is of far lesser status than you, my king. He can become your servant, if you wish. Otherwise, we will dispose of him."

"S-servant sounds _great_ ," Jim sputters, trying to get back to his knees. The guard doesn't kick him this time, but gives him a warning look.

"If…if that's the best we can do," Bones says. He sounds as bewildered as Jim feels.

"Very good, my king. Come, we will bring you to our royal quarters."

The high priest pulls Bones away, despite the doctor's best efforts to keep looking back at Jim, his obvious hesitance to leave him alone. Jim exhales in frustration as he watches him go, then looks up at the guards, biting his chapped bottom lip.

"You know, on my planet, I'm royalty, too. They held, um…parades…I got to ride on a float. Does that count for anything here?"

Two of the guards look at each other and roll their eyes before hoisting Jim to his feet. "Come on, your _highness_ ," one quips. They practically drag him to the royal palace. He waits to see Bones for the rest of the day, but never does.

*

He's not even supposed to _be_ here. Scoping out this planet's terrain was meant to be a Bones and Sulu job, but Sulu asked to switch to another away mission at the last minute, and Jim was "stupidly) feeling generous. It seems like he and Bones beamed down and got about fifty yards, if even that much, before they were surrounded by these Neanderthals, these _hooligans_ , forced to give up their weapons and watch their communicators get destroyed. And now he's going to be Bones' servant, of all things—which, given the alternative of a swift beheading, is a pretty sweet deal, but still seems, well…wrong. Bones gets to be king because he has a few well-placed freckles on his back, while he has to sit in a holding cell before getting moved to servant's quarters? He's the _captain_ of a Federation starship. _That_ is his real destiny, not some meaningless slave's life in which he spends every day bringing peeled grapes to Leonard McCoy.

Jim scuffs his foot along the ground and pouts. "I wanna be the stupid king," he mumbles to himself. "S'not fair."

"Servant," a guard calls out. "I will bring you to your quarters now."

"I have a name, you know," Jim grunts.

"It is of little importance," the guard says. He opens the gate to Jim's cell and lets him out, striking his back with a stick when he gets the chance. Jim sputters, nearly letting out a few choice profanities at the sting of the new bruise on top of the one from earlier. The guard smirks at him. "You would do well to watch your mouth. Your Federation rank is meaningless here, as is your Federation."

Jim tries to look dignified, straightening up despite the pain searing through his back. "Yeah, no…I got that. Thanks."

The servant's quarters are modest, to say the least: a thin cot and a hook on the wall, and a very small window for light, when there is light. There's no electricity, so the guard lights a candle, and Jim can see a basin and tub for washing. The guard nods to the plain-looking robe hanging from the hook.

"Change clothes," he orders. Jim supposes he has no choice, so he turns away from the guard and does as he's told. When he's done, he turns back and tries to hide the hopeful tone in his voice.

"Do we get to see Bo—the king, now?"

The guard nods and looks about to lead Jim out into the palace, when another one comes up and murmurs in his ear, then departs. Jim's taskmaster holds up a hand and shakes his head.

"It's late and King Leonard has requested solitude for the remainder of the evening. You will remain in your quarters until morning."

"Morning?" Jim asks, feeling a little desperate. _King Leonard?!_ He steps forward and the guard blocks the exit to the room, sensing a possible escape. "B-but…I need to talk to him. The king. Please."

"You'll do as you're told."

Jim looks around at his ugly excuse for a room and frowns miserably. "Can I at least get something to read?" He tries to look as cute and pathetic as possible and the guard raises an eyebrow in a way that reminds Jim of Spock. He never thought he'd miss that hard-assed Vulcan bastard.

"Tomorrow, maybe," he says, simply.

The guard leaves and shuts the door behind him, locking Jim inside the room with only himself and the candlelight for company. He exhales and goes to sit on the cot, staring off for a few moments before blowing out the candle; if he lets it burn down all the way, he doesn't know if they'll give him another one. He lies down, gathering the shreds of his uniform in his arms and hugging them to his chest. If he concentrates, he can imagine Chekov furiously trying to locate his presence on the previously-unknown planet, constantly watching his vitals to make sure the ship hasn't lost her captain for good. He pictures Uhura trying to intercept and translate any signals or transmissions, Spock pacing the corridors and making sure everyone remains calm despite the glaring absence of a captain and a CMO. Sulu sitting at the helm, likely thanking his lucky stars.

Moreover, he wonders what Bones is doing. What he's thinking. If he has any equipment to help with the cuts on his back. If he's okay…or scared. Having the time of his life, getting treated to good wine and meat and maybe a gaggle of virgins—and not worrying about Jim at all.

Exhaustion sets in and he wonders himself to sleep. He'll just wait to see Bones again, if that's what it takes.

*

Bones wakes with Jim's name on his lips. He doesn't recognize anything—these lavish surroundings are certainly not his quarters, unless Uhura took some liberties with interior decorating while he was asleep. He sits upright, fingers bunched in sheets that are way too soft to be Starfleet regulation bedclothes, and notices he's topless—which is good because he certainly would have sweated through a shirt. Sunlight filters in through the window and he blinks toward it, wiping the crust from his eyes. He slept out of sheer exhaustion, really, plagued all night by dreams of Jim, his cries of pain as whips, chains, and blades hurtled through the air to strike, bruise and slice his prone body.

Jim. Where _is_ he? He asked for him, his "servant," plenty of times last night, but the high priest and other servants ignored him every time, fussing over him to the point of insanity. They even offered him a young, innocent-looking Zutran girl, as a "companion" for the evening. He took one look at her nerve-stricken face and told her she could leave; he didn't need any quivering virgins hanging around, making him feel like a monster for something he hadn't even requested, for something he didn't actually _want_. Eventually, Bones chased them all out of his quarters, telling them to leave him the hell alone, that he was exhausted. And then, it was finally quiet enough for him to sleep. Too quiet. He missed the gentle hum of the _Enterprise_ lulling him to sleep, a sign of her constant presence that might very well be a figment of his imagination. But the idea that the ship can make herself known to her inhabitants—cradling them, keeping them all safe from the harrowing, blank canvas for danger and strife and heartbreak that they refer to as _space_ —is a comforting one.

A small knock sounds and a woman peeks into the room, regarding Bones with hesitance. "King Leonard?"

"Huh?" Bones looks up in confusion, not used to hearing his first name. The "king" part is weird, too. He shakes it off, scratching his scalp. "Yeah…?"

"I bid you good morning," the girl says. She smiles pleasantly as she enters the room, curtsying to him. Bones arches a brow at the gesture; this is pretty fucking wild. "May I fetch anything you require? Breakfast? Libations?"

"What's your name?" Bones asks, after a moment. His voice is gruff with sleep and seems to startle her. He thinks that she probably doesn't get asked her name very often.

"Ah…my name is Ryela. I am one of the head servants."

He perks up at the mention of the word "servant." Jim is supposed to be a servant, too. "Have you seen Jim?"

"Jim?" She blinks, looking lost.

"Yeah, dusty blond hair, real crisp blue eyes… He was captured with me. Until, y'know, I got crowned leader of the planet." He rolls his eyes, which only seems to confuse the girl more. Sarcasm, he's learned time and time again, is not universal. "They said he was going to be my servant."

"Oh! Servant James, I presume. The royal guards are dealing with him. They suspect he might try to escape if left alone."

"Couldn't blame him," Bones murmurs. "I want to see him soon. Got that?"

"Yes, my king," the girl says. Bones inwardly marvels at how acquiescent she is, how willing to serve him, considering that he was named king yesterday. And completely out of the blue, too. This whole "chosen one" thing sounds like complete bull dookie to him, but these people are all so willing to believe. He supposes that faith is all that some people have. He's lucky; he's got his daughter, his job, his ship, his crew. His captain—his best friend. This new life isn't so great without those things, no matter how many servants and soft sheets and virgins they throw at him.

"Thanks," he says, figuring there's no point in being mean to the girl. She smiles slightly, obviously pleased with his gratitude. He shifts and feels his stomach growl. "The breakfast thing sounds good, too."

"As you wish, my king." Ryela curtsies again and takes her leave. Bones groans, trying not to count the seconds until Jim appears.

Breakfast, it turns out, is absolutely delicious—a gargantuan spread fit for a…well, for him. And he hasn't eaten breakfast in bed in ages—hell, when was the last time he even _had_ an actual breakfast? Bones didn't realize how hungry he was, but everything on the platter proves to be satisfying. He wonders in mid-chew if those idiot guards have given Jim anything to eat. He stashes a couple of the rolls under his pillow to give him later, just in case.

He's finishing off the meal with a steaming cup of something or other that Ryela said would relax his muscles. The promise of an after-effect makes him hesitant to imbibe it, but, feeling sated from the good food, he figures, when in Rome. She was right; he feels the tension in his back melt away almost immediately and a sigh slips from his parted lips as he curls his fingers snugly around the warm mug. He's felt like every nerve in his body has been standing on end since he arrived on this crazy planet, and the calming sensation is more than welcome. He could get used to this lifestyle, actually.

When he's done with everything, Ryela comes to check on him, lifting the tray from his lap. Up close, she's a very pretty girl, with alabaster skin and gentle ridges of bone along her temples, dotted a faint pink, leading to her straw-colored hair. She reminds him a bit of Chapel, whom he's always found attractive. Bones doesn't notice he's staring at the girl until she looks back at him, a questioning yet knowing expression on her face.

"Is there anything else I can do to help you relax, my king?" she says, a gentle lilt to her voice. The pink marks by her temples seem to intensify in their hue. Bones feels a small thrum of excitement and surprise in his chest; he can't remember the last time he went on an away mission and a beautiful woman was interested in _him_ instead of Jim. A perk of leading a kingdom, he supposed; likely nothing more.

"Um…no, that's fine. Thank you," he says. Ryela looks almost disappointed, but nods quickly, moving to take the tray out of the room. Bones sits up straighter. "Actually, I could use a shower…can you point me to the bathroom?" She turns before she reaches the door and smiles to him indulgently.

"Certainly. I'll summon servants to assist you with a bath."

"Assist me? Eh…thanks and all, but I think I can manage my—"

"King Leonard," Ryela says, interrupting him, sounding almost stern. There's a wisp of a smirk on her face that reminds him even more of Chapel—that _Honestly, McCoy_ look Chapel always gets when he's being fussy or cranky or generally ridiculous. "Royalty always requires assistance. I'm sure you will grow accustomed to it."

Bones watches her leave with a half-amused look. No quivering virgin, that one; she's got a bit of sass to her. Sass, he can deal with. Sass, he understands. And again, he wonders about Jim.

*

"Correct your posture," a guard barks. Jim exhales and then complies. He'd give anything to punch any one or all of these jerks into the next galaxy, but they've still got those big knives and he's got, well…an ugly robe and sandals. And a bitch of a backache, thanks to his wounds matched with his rock-hard servant's bed. If he ever gets back to the _Enterprise_ , he thinks, he's getting a massage chair for his quarters. And maybe he'll have a technician install a massage function on his captain's chair. Man, that would be sweet. He's enjoying the idea of it immensely when a (foxy) blonde comes into the room, looking around at all of the royal servants gathered there. She has an air of authority, but her plain robe tells Jim that she's dirt under the shoe of Zutran society, just like all the other poor saps gathered here. Everyone gives her their full attention, as he assumes they've all been trained to do—trained by the knife and the whip, most likely.

"The king has requested a bathing," the woman says, and the mention of Bones has Jim's full attention, too. "He will need servants to assist. You, you…" She starts pointing at people to pick them out, scanning the room and pausing when her eyes land on Jim. "And you," she says, looking at him. "The king has requested your presence, specifically."

Jim nods, a little too excited at the prospect of finally getting to see Bones again. He almost lets himself get giddy at the idea that he was handpicked by the _king_ , until he reminds himself that duh, the king is _Bones_ , and he probably just wants to make sure Jim is okay, double duh. Then the actual task at hand registers—he's going to help Bones take a bath? Seems a little…personal. He licks his lips, suddenly feeling nervous, but there's no time to be nervous; the blonde is already leading her three choices out of the room and down the magnificent corridor that, he figures, leads to the royal quarters. What choice does he have but to follow?

She pauses and knocks, waiting for Bones' okay before entering the bedroom. Jim blinks rapidly, having to adjust his eyes to the sheer opulence of it all, compared to his dingy little hellhole with the one candle and the one basin, and the bed that feels like a pile of pointy rocks. Everything practically sparkles here, from the magnificent statues to the gleaming, textured fabric of the window curtains and the massive bed, outfitted with what looks to be feather-soft sheets. And then, there's Bones, sitting on the edge of the bed and slightly hunched forward in a bathrobe, looking small compared to his over-the-top surroundings. He looks up and locks eyes with Jim, his spine going ramrod-straight at the sight of him. Jim stares back and swallows hard. He knows he must look like hell, but Bones, well…Bones actually looks great. He can tell the Zutrans have been taking care of him. Hell, they _worship_ him. Jim wants nothing more than to go to Bones—the image of his friend, here in the flesh at last, is the equivalent of sighting a cool oasis in the midst of an arid, alien desert. But he can't; they both know he can't. So he stays right where he is, barely registering the woman's instructions as she discusses the bathing ritual. Before he knows it, the other two servants are scurrying away to the bathroom and she's speaking directly to him.

"Servant James," she says, and he somehow rips his gaze away from Bones to look at her. "Please prepare the king for his bath."

"Sorry…prepare him how?"

She lifts her brow and smiles, speaking at a slower pace, as if he's a little slow. Hell, he feels a little slow right now. "Disrobe him, of course."

"…Oh."

She continues to smile, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving the two men in the bedroom together. Jim turns back to Bones, who's already standing and approaching him. Before he knows it, Bones has enveloped him in a tight, overwhelming hug and his grip is absolute murder on his back, but he couldn't care less because it's Bones, fuck, Bones. He returns the embrace immediately, his breath shaky against the ear of the doctor-turned-king.

"Oh, god," is all he can say. He knows he's nearly shuddering, probably from the pain he's trying his best to ignore. Probably from vast relief. Bones holds onto his shoulders as he looks him over, grave concern written all over his face.

"Damn it, Jim," he whispers. "You look like shit."

"I'm not exactly getting the royal treatment." Jim is worried someone will hear them and he can tell Bones is too, which is kind of dumb, considering that Bones is the goddamn king and can tell everyone to piss off if he wants to, but nevertheless, the fear is still there. Now that he's been reunited with Bones, he doesn't want to jeopardize it.

"Are they feeding you? I saved you some bread, just in case."

"I ate a few bites of…of something. It was the color of this robe." Jim shrugs one shoulder and Bones pulls his hand back from it. They both notice that his fingers are stained with dark red blotches. The doctor's expression contorts and hardens.

"Your back…you're bleeding through your robe. You must be in pain. They took all my damn medical equipment away, _goddamn_ it…"

"Forget it," Jim whispers. "What's another few scars?" He shivers as Bones reaches up and splays a hand over his face, doing his touchy-feely doctor thing and checking vitals. But it's a little less clinical than it usually is. His fingertips linger along Jim's cheekbones and hairline, the light scruff of his jaw and the pulse beneath his throat. Jim can feel every touch like warm honey, soothing his skin. He nearly loses himself in the sensation, exhaling heavily and murmuring, "Can't keep your hands off me, as usual."

"They couldn't beat the smartass out of you, could they?" Bones isn't smiling but Jim can hear a hint of one in his voice. He wants this to go on forever, but he knows if he doesn't do as he's told, he'll get a new round of bruises meant to open up the old ones.

"Gotta undress you."

Bones squints and drops his hands, letting Jim take hold of the knot in his robe with slightly shaky hands—hands that Bones has never seen shake before, not even in the face of a herd of Romulan war ships or a panel of harsh, judgmental Starfleet officers. The knot comes undone and trembling fingers reach up to grip the fabric of the robe, carefully smoothing it from Bones' broad shoulders. Jim has to stop himself from bringing his palms to his friend's chest, unclothed and so close to him, so tempting. It's not like he hasn't seen Bones naked a million times before, thanks to the confined spaces of academy dorms. But this is light years away from that, and there's so much heat radiating off Bones that it makes him feel slightly dizzy. He pushes the robe from Bones' arms and lets it fall on the floor, then bends to pick it up when he feels dark eyes staring down at him—more heat.

"Jim, you don't have to…" Bones starts. Jim looks up at him, half-smiling and gesturing to his tattered, sand-colored clothing.

"Yeah…I do. Y'know?"

Bones hesitates and forces a nod. Jim stands to fold the bathrobe carefully, concentrating on not looking at Bones' pelvic area. After a moment, they exchange a look of resignation and Jim waits for Bones to lead the way into the bathroom.

*

Ryela is overseeing the other two servants as they prepare the bathwater, sprinkling fragrant salts into the steaming liquid. When she sees Bones come in, she smiles to him and steps back from the tub, nodding for the others to do the same. Bones sniffs at the air and tries not to grimace at the flowery scent. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful, even if it is her job to do this. Not that she gets paid. It's tricky, he reasons.

"Your bath is ready, my king," Ryela says. Bones nods to her, then peers at the other two servants, standing on the opposite side of the room. Five people present for a one-person bath seems a little crowded.

"Do all five of us have to be here for this?" he asks, brow raised.

Ryela purses her lips in thought and then turns, pointing to each of them. "You, wait outside the quarters. You, you are dismissed."

"What about me?" Jim asks.

"You stay," Ryela says. She bows her head at Bones. "Is this satisfactory?"

"Yeah…sure." It's still a little weird, considering that he doesn't know Ryela from Adam, even if she did bring him the best breakfast he's ever had, and that Jim, well…Jim has seen him do a lot of things, but he's never seen him _bathe_ before. Hell, Bones will be the first to admit that there's always been a spark between himself and the captain, a mutual attraction that's ranged from mental to emotional, precariously bordering on physical. Nothing has ever _happened_ , though—nothing beyond friendly touches and the occasional embrace, like the one a few minutes before. Though he couldn't deny that there was something more between them at that particular moment—a simmering need to protect Jim and be near him that belied the professional nature of his touch. And now he's standing here, buck naked in front of Jim, and it's supposed to be no big deal? Of course it's a big fucking deal. But he knows they'd be wise to pretend.

Bones finds his way to the tub and climbs into it, one foot at a time, exhaling as he sinks down into the water. It feels ridiculously good against his skin; almost as good as the drink Ryela gave him earlier. He closes his eyes briefly as he leans back against the curve of the tub and when he opens them again, he sees Jim is pointedly staring at him. He flicks his eyes away from him before he can think about it, nodding to Ryela.

"Okay…this is great. Appreciate it. Thanks."

"Is the temperature of the water adequate?" she asks.

"Yeah, peachy keen. Thanks for everything. You can just…leave me to it." Bones waves a hand at her as a signal that she should perhaps get the hell out. He doesn't mean to sound curt, but this has ratcheted quickly from weird to fucking bizarre. It shouldn't be a surprise that it's only meant to get worse.

"Nonsense. Servant James will be bathing you."

"Jim?" Bones says, eyes wide.

"Me?!" Jim squeaks.

"He must learn if he's meant to be one of your main servants." Ryela shrugs as if it all makes perfect sense "Bones is quickly learning that nothing on Zutra V, not a goddamn thing, makes any sense at all) and hands a soapy sponge to Jim, leading him to the tub. Jim shuffles over, looking like a deer in headlights. "Please proceed, James. I will be on the other side of the room."

Bones wishes Ryela would just skedaddle so he can bathe himself and say that Jim did it, but he supposes that's the point of her presence: to prevent that very thing from happening. There's a small bench for kneeling next to the tub and after a few moments of what looks like sheer panic streaking across Jim's face, he takes advantage of it, bending to face Bones in the tub. Bones looks up at him and squints his displeasure; if anyone's getting a sponge bath, it should be Jim, considering he's got all those gaping wounds and bruises—his torso probably looks like a map of the Andromeda galaxy by now. It's not fair that he has to do this—they both know that—but Jim has never been one to back down from a challenge, that's for damn sure. Bones is wondering what exactly what would happen if he refused to let this go on, when Jim reaches out and slides the sponge across his chest, making him gasp softly.

Oh, that feels _good_.

The sponge travels slowly to Bones' shoulders—first the left, then the right—and then moves down to his pectorals again, sliding over his ribs before dipping under the water to caress his stomach. Jim is pretty good at this, though there's really not much to it. Still, he's careful not to move the sponge too fast or too slow, and when Bones looks up to see Jim biting his bottom lip in concentration, it sends a little electric jolt straight through his bloodstream. His cock twitches in the water and, luckily, Jim doesn't seem to notice. He shifts to cleanse Bones' back and the doctor leans forward to let him. It feels fantastic, despite the underlying guilt that nags him when he thinks about Jim bleeding through his rags, his bloodied skin.

Jim is busy working on his lower back—the spot where the damn birthmark lies—and moving to his calves, when Bones realizes that he's touching him everywhere but his cock. Jim probably thinks it's a good idea to put it off and save it for last, but it's sort of backfiring, because every swipe of the soft sponge along his skin is making him harder and harder. After a few moments, Jim puts the sponge down altogether and reaches into the bathwater with both hands. Bones jerks a little, not knowing what the hell he's doing, but then he sees Jim lifting two palmfuls of water, and it's pouring gently over his scalp, rinsing through his hair. He lets out a small, surprised moan and Jim stills as if Bones has just jabbed a hypospray into his neck.

"I-is this okay?" Jim whispers. God, he sounds so damn nervous. Like a little boy. Bones wishes he could tell just what the captain is thinking, right now.

"It's great, Jim…it's perfect," he murmurs. He looks up at him, trying to keep his gaze soft. "You're doing fine."

Jim nods with a hint of a smile and continues to rinse Bones' hair. Then he starts massaging soap into the damp strands and Bones feels like he could damn near melt right into the water, it's so relaxing. Jim really does have talented hands; he's heard as much through various acquaintances, both from the academy and the _Enterprise_ crew. The sensation does a good job of easing a lot of the tension and guilt he's been harboring, his muscles unknotting so they feel light and heavy at the same time. Bones leans back against the side of the tub with his eyes closed and nearly forgets where he is or what's happening.

Until Jim's hand brushes against his cock.

Bones' eyes snap open again and he looks down to see that Jim has returned to the sponge and approached his final destination. And he looks just as shocked as Bones feels. Yeah, saving it for last was a bad, _bad_ idea. He's waiting for Jim to reel back in horror, any second now—but he gets another surprise when Jim's fingers instead curl tightly around his cock, stroking the shaft. Bones' hands grip the edges of the tub and his nostrils flare, and _jesus_ , Ryela is probably watching this entire thing and thinking god knows what, and he just tries to breathe as normally as he can while Jim gives him a warm, wet handjob under the surface of the water. Why he's doing it, Bones doesn't know, but he doesn't want to ask because it'll tip Ryela off—or worse, Jim might stop. Maybe he feels obligated in his role as a servant. Or maybe their fucked-up, friendship-cum-partnership has been leading up to this for years. He's probably reading too much into it, but it doesn't matter anyway, because he's gritting his teeth like crazy just to make sure he won't utter a sound when Jim teases and rubs the head of his cock and he comes, fast and hard, into the bathwater.

And just like that, Jim returns to sponging him, cleansing him between his thighs. Bones blinks drowsily at him and registers the slide of Jim's Adam's apple along his throat as he swallows. Jim doesn't meet his eye; Bones wishes he would. He opens his mouth to say something when Jim puts the sponge down and stands up, fidgeting with his hands before clasping them together.

"Done," he says, simply.

Ryela suddenly reappears in Bones' line of vision, and she nods to Jim. "Dismissed, Servant James. Please send the other servant in to help the king get dry."

Jim only lets his gaze flicker over to Bones for a millisecond before hightailing it out of the room.

Soon, an unfamiliar pair of hands is ushering him out of the tub and toweling him off. Bones exhales heavily and addresses Ryela without looking at her.

"Why did you specifically ask Jim to bathe me?"

"I thought it was what you wanted," she says. The marks on her temples flare in color slightly when Bones does look at her, and he can tell she's embarrassed about possibly doing something wrong. "You requested his presence, and…I felt a connection between the two of you. I was told you had called him your ‘companion'…I apologize if I was mistaken."

"Hell, he _is_ my companion. Only word I can think of to describe it." Bones shakes his head and lets the new servant wrap and tuck the towel around him. "It's okay. Really. I was just, uh…curious."

Ryela nods, still looking somber, her hands folded submissively behind her back. She apologizes again, and Bones figures she's worried he'll say something disparaging to a guard. He goes to her and squeezes her shoulder gently.

"You're fine, hon," he murmurs. "I want him for the bath every day."

He goes back to his quarters, leaving a clear-eyed, smiling Zutran girl behind him.

*

If anyone were to ask Jim why he did it, he isn't sure he'd have an answer. Luckily, no one knows it happened except for Bones and maybe the head servant girl, but she hasn't said anything to him about it. What's her name again? Royala? Ry…Ryela. Yeah, that's it. She doesn't seem so bad. Though Jim is vaguely jealous that she gets to be Bones' main servant and he has to sit with the rest of the poor schmoes in the waiting room, twiddling his thumbs and hoping something happens.

He's excited when he does get called to meet with Bones privately in his quarters. Then he remembers he should be nervous instead and feels rather conflicted.

When he gets to Bones' bedroom, he finds him standing by the window, clothed this time and wearing the most ridiculous headdress Jim has ever seen, complete with gold and feathers and glinting jewels. He can't help but bark out a laugh. Bones drops his hold on the curtain and looks at Jim, scowling.

"I'm supposed to wear it when the crowd sees me, okay? They told me so."

"So? Aren't you the king around here? You can do whatever you want."

"But it means something to them."

"Them?" Jim repeats, brow raised.

"Those poor people out there." Bones nods for Jim to approach the window and pulls back the curtain a smidge for him to peer outside at the scene. Jim blinks in shock as he sees a huge mass of people outside of the palace, many on their knees, bowing to the façade of the building, hands clasped as if to beg their king to look upon them with mercy, perhaps bestow holy words of advice. There's so many of them—men, women, children, infants—he couldn't begin to count them all. He feels tears prick his eyes, looking at the children especially—he can't look away from them, not even when Bones exhales, sounding nervous and tired. "It's a weird sort of…pressure," he whispers. "Wondering how I'm supposed to please all these people who need so much help."

"I guess no one ever said playing god was fun," Jim murmurs. He finally looks back at Bones, noting the stiff line of his jaw. "No wonder they're so willing to believe. They must really be suffering."

"The priests. They pour all their money into this…this opulent _crap_. And then there's nothing left." Bones steps away from the window and takes off the headdress, throwing it on the floor with a clunk. He collapses on the bed, sighing. "I fuckin' hate away missions, Jim. If we ever make it back to the ship, I'm locking myself in my Sickbay forever."

"Yeah, well…you'll get that chance, I'm sure." Because soon his crew is going to find a way to come to the rescue and get them off this weirdo birthmark-loving planet, he's sure. Totally. Maybe. Jim sits on the edge of the bed, which is ridiculously cushiony compared to his lumpy excuse for a cot. It's nice to feel something soft, a small comfort—it makes him feel that much more human. "You still got that bread you saved?"

"Oh, yeah." Bones reaches under the pillow for the two rolls he placed there earlier, tossing them to Jim. He catches them both easily and starts pulling one apart. It's still ever so slightly warm, and he stuffs pieces of it into his mouth gratefully, nearly forgetting to chew. He can't remember the last time he was so hungry. Bones watches him as he sits up on the bed, lightly patting Jim's bicep. "I'll try to save more food tomorrow."

"This is good," Jim says, after he swallows. He looks up at Bones and smiles thinly. "Thanks for pulling me out of the waiting room. S'depressing."

"I bet. Ryela was telling me that you're all crammed in there like sardines."

"It's not the most pleasant accommodations." Jim laughs dryly at his own understatement, getting to work on the second roll, his gaze focused on the food in his lap. Bones furrows his brow, shifting closer on the bed. Jim doesn't look up.

"What're your sleeping quarters like?"

"Bleak," Jim says, quietly. "Shitty bed, no light but from one window. Basin for washing. Kind of cold."

"That's disgusting," Bones growls. He looks to the window again. "We should try sneaking you in here at night. As long as the guards don't notice…"

"Yeah, right. Those whip-happy assholes hate me. Plus, what about the head servant? She'd rat me out."

"Who, Ry? She wouldn't. She's discreet."

" _Ry_? What is she, your new girlfriend?" Jim tries on a smirk but it doesn't even last long enough to feel satisfying. He tears off another piece of bread and chews on it, unhappily. He's getting the snot kicked out of him here, mentally and physically, and Bones is busy making nice with the help. Bones nudges his shoulder and Jim grunts, unwilling to depart from his annoyed reverie.

"C'mon, kid, don't be jealous," Bones chides gently. Jim knows without looking that he's smiling to show Jim he doesn't really mean it.

"Believe me, I'm not."

Bones exhales and looks away, scratching his jaw. They're both silent for a few moments before the doctor grunts his unmistakable grunt. Jim wonders if they could just while away an entire afternoon, grunting at each other. It would be oddly comforting.

"Look, I'll talk to Ryela. See what I can do." Bones shifts and lies back on the bed, giving Jim a raised eyebrow and patting the area beside him. Jim tries not to look too thankful, but he really, really is, because _god_ , a real mattress and soft sheets and _pillows_. He reclines on his side next to Bones so that he's facing him, and sighs in relief. It's like a little slice of heaven. He looks up at Bones when he feels the slight shake of his laughter vibrate through the mattress. "Now, how could I tell you needed that, Jim," he murmurs. "Nice bed, isn't it?"

"Compared to mine, it's pretty much the most awesome bed in the entire universe. Must be nice to be the king."

"Can't complain." Bones smiles faintly to him and Jim returns it, just for a moment, until he gets a funny feeling, a cramp of worry down in his gut.

"Don't get sucked into this, okay, Bones?" he whispers.

"I…yeah." The older man takes a deep breath, flitting his eyes along the ceiling before closing them. He remains on his back, hands clasped tightly over his stomach. "Jim…why'd you do it?" he asks.

"Do what?" Jim focuses his eyesight on a certain spot on Bones' jaw, where the stubble grows slightly heavier than along the rest of the firm, masculine bone.

"You know what."

Jim lets the question hang in the air for a few moments. "It was my job," he finally says.

"Bullshit. It's your _job_ to captain the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ and save the universe on a daily basis. This—serving me—isn't your job."

"It is, for now. And I always do damn well at my job…whatever it is."

"You're a regular whiz kid," Bones mutters. But he says nothing more. Jim watches him for a few minutes longer and then joins him in closing his eyes to relax, resting his hand on the doctor's forearm. They lie there like that, inches apart, as Jim waits for a reaction that never comes.

*

Bones wakes up one morning and realizes it's been days since Jim assured him he'd be back in Sickbay soon, telling the captain to fuck off at the very mention of an away mission. And yet, here he is, still on Zutra V, still the king to an alien race he doesn't know anything about, nor does he really care to know. Admittedly, he's grown fond of Ryela, who gets him anything he wants or needs without a second thought, and puts aside her own devotion in order to make sure he gets plenty of time with Jim. He's quickly fallen into a basic routine: He wakes up and eats breakfast, gets a sponge bath from Jim, gets a visit from the high order of priests, spends the afternoon with Jim, eats dinner, reads random Zutran texts to pass the time, and then asks Ryela to sneak Jim into his quarters for the night. The routine is only interrupted by the occasional bruise to Jim's face or a limp to his gait, after he's aggravated a guard in some way by being himself, i.e. brash and obnoxious; Jim-like. Jim-like behavior warrants whippings, yet doesn't show signs of abating, unlike Jim's confidence that the _Enterprise_ crew will soon come to retrieve them. He was so sure at first, but it's been days, and so far, nothing.

"What's the first thing you're gonna do when you get back to the ship?" Jim asked the night before, as they teetered on the edge of sleep. Bones sighed and ran a hand over his face, turning to face him.

"Go replicate myself a damn burger and fries," he murmured, then yawned. "You?"

"Prob'ly go sit in my chair…or give Spock a big hello kiss. Haven't decided yet."

"That lucky hobgoblin." Bones smirked as Jim suddenly giggled.

"'Is that a phaser in your pocket, Commander, or are you just happy to see me?'"

Bones snorted and put on his best Spock voice. "'I fail to see how the phaser in my pocket would be confused for affection upon your arrival, Captain.'"

Jim crowed, shaking his head. "That's fuckin' _gold_." He reached out and touched Bones' cheek lightly, his thumb sweeping across it. " _If_ we get back, I guess."

"Come on, Jim; you know we will."

"Yeah," Jim sighed. Then he mumbled goodnight and Bones said nothing more. In the morning, he was gone, as he has been every morning. It's weirdly disappointing, to fall asleep beside Jim, but not wake up beside him.

Jim returns after breakfast with Ryela, as he always does, to bathe him. The baths have been fairly routine as well; Jim continues to give Bones handjobs in the water on the days that he grows erect during the washings, and doesn't do anything if Bones doesn't get hard. Most days, he does. Jim never complains or makes a fuss over it, just does it efficiently as if it's part of his job description—which, according to him, it is. He continues to avoid discussing it, which is starting to drive Bones kind of crazy. Jim is so goddamn contrary—daily handjobs, and he acts like it's as banal as steering a starship.

Bones steps back into his quarters, wrapped in a towel from the waist down, and finds the priests already waiting for him, the group flanked by two royal guards. "Little early today, aren't you?" he huffs, his hair dripping in his face.

"I apologize, my king," the high priest says, looking particularly round and well-fed. "But we wish to discuss an urgent matter with you."

Bones sighs, turning to see Ryela and Jim entering the room behind him. They both set to work making the bed and Bones spies Jim giving the high priest a smug little nod of recognition. "Can I get dressed first?"

"I'm afraid we must address this issue immediately." The high priest squares his shoulders, as if trying to look taller. "It has come to our attention that you have not been giving your royal speeches to your subjects."

"Whaddaya mean?" he says gruffly, trying to play dumb, though he knows exactly what the guy means. He's supposed to be addressing all of those needy people who camp outside the palace day and night, giving them some sort of words of wisdom on a daily basis so they don't get restless or disgruntled. But he hasn't known what to say—getting the royal treatment is fun, but beyond that, he's pretty bad at this king stuff.

"King Leonard, we've previously discussed the importance of your daily words to your subjects. They worship you; they yearn to revel in the healing power of your—"

"Damn it, I'm a doctor, not the _messiah_!"

"But you are, King Leonard…you bear the sign of Zutra and therefore are holy to your subjects. They are suffering and desire to hear your divine offerings."

"They'd probably be happy if you were offering some food," Jim mutters from his kneeling position on the floor—a sort of stage-mutter he must know everyone else can hear. Bones freezes, as does everyone else, and one of the guards steps forward, a flash of anger in his eyes. Ryela straightens, suddenly looking terrified.

"You were not asked to speak, _slave_ ," the high priest sneers. Jim, of course, just can't help himself.

"You're just mollifying those poor people," he continues, sneering right back at the high priest as he tugs on the bed sheets. "Throwing a new, shiny object at them, forcing them to worship blindly all because of a couple of _moles_ on the guy's back, when they need real help: money to live and food to eat…"

"Jim, goddamn it, cut it _out_ ," Bones hisses at him, sensing the guards' reaction before it even happens.

"…And you're treating them like sheep, like _vermin_. Disgusting," Jim spits. "Primitive!"

"Guards," the high priest simply says, and that's all the impetus they need to go charging at Jim, wrestling him to his feet. The priest starts rambling again, something about slaves knowing their place and insolence being punished, and Bones feels panicked, looking between Jim struggling in their strong grips, kicking out, and Ryela's pale face, stark against an expression that suggests she knows exactly what's coming, and it isn't good. The guards throw him to the ground and Jim lands hard on all fours, grunting and unaware of the angry-looking rods being drawn, poised to fall upon his back. Bones swallows a harsh gasp threatening to slip out. He's seen Jim's back, having examined and carefully cleaned his wounds, and he knows he hasn't healed well enough to withstand a beating the likes of what this promises to be. The guards look incensed enough to break Jim's back with those things. He can tell his captain is scared, even as he shuts his eyes and waits for the inevitable to come.

Bones hardly recognizes his own voice as he shouts, "STOP!" The guards lower their rods and look to him questioningly. He has no idea what he's doing but he's going to pull a Jim Kirk and just fucking _wing it_. He steps forward and lifts his chin as haughtily as he can, regarding Jim on the ground, hoping no one can spot him swallowing nervously.

"You just don't _get_ it, do you, Kirk? You're not the one in charge anymore; I am. I'm the goddamn _king_ now, and you're the servant. You don't talk back to me or anyone else. And that's the way I like it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the high priest smirking in satisfaction, pleased at the rift appearing between the two former friends. Ryela looks completely horrified in her corner, and Bones takes a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for getting across the desired effect. The only one not buying it is Jim, which Bones can tell just by looking him in the eye. His lips are drawn in a thin, quivering line as he looks up at the doctor, but there is bright, clear understanding in his eyes: whatever happens, whatever Bones has to do, he's saving him. Bones wonders if that's gratitude he can spot in Jim's gaze as he continues to bark at him.

"But you don't like it, do you, Jim? No…you're jealous. You want to sabotage us all, and I'm not going to stand for it."

A heavy moment hangs in the air as everyone waits for what Bones is going to do next—Bones included. He vaguely registers a faint shriek of surprise from Ryela when he swings his fist and hits Jim below the right eye. The sound is sickening, knuckles smacking against flesh, but Bones' medical training assures that he knows exactly where to strike so it looks bad, yet causes minimal damage. Of course, Jim is going to have a black eye, but he's had plenty in the past. He reels back, grunting in shock, and easily lifts when Bones hauls him upright by his robe, folding sharply when he follows up with a sucker punch to the stomach. It feels practically choreographed to Bones, but he knows the priests are eating it up and Ryela is trying not to watch, and no matter what, it's a million times better than a beating from dirtbag alien guards who don't care if Jim lives or dies—they both know that, and it's exactly the reason Jim doesn't bother to fight back. This is the way it has to be.

And, to tell the truth—Bones realizes as Jim practically falls upon him, clutching at his biceps and gasping a quiet yet theatric plea for mercy, only to grunt in squelched pain when Bones hits him again, splitting his lip—wailing on Jim like this is kind of therapeutic. And fun.

And fucking hot.

Jim crumples at his feet and he takes it as an opportunity to growl at the others. "Get out, all of you," he shouts, trying to wave them out of the room. "I'll take care of this insubordinate little shit." He kicks Jim in the fleshy part of his hip as they all file out, including Ryela, who can barely look at him. Bones reaches down and hauls Jim up by his armpits, shoving him hard against the wall, and they lock eyes as the heavy door to the quarters falls shut. Jim looks at him, panting and breathless, a trickle of blood smeared beneath his bottom lip that he fucking _licks off_ with a swipe of his tongue, and Bones suddenly realizes how hard he is beneath his towel.

"Jim," he breathes, a faint whisper. Then he smacks him, hard, across the face. Jim's head goes snapping back, his skull grazing the wall, and then bounces forward again so Bones can take another look into those brilliantly blue eyes. He feels something stir inside him, at that hazy, vulnerable, suffering-in-silence look Jim sports. "It's fuckin' sexy, the way you can take a beating," he murmurs.

"S'a skill, just check my CV," Jim whispers raggedly.

He reaches out, before Bones has a chance to retort, and pulls him in by the back of his neck, kissing him. It's rough and deep—desperate, the way Bones feels inside, his vital organs practically humming with adrenaline. His tongue immediately plunges into Jim's mouth, scouring his teeth and palate, and he nearly groans at the way Jim fights back for control. Even in this state, he's still the cocky, aggressive captain who wants to be in charge, but Bones won't let him have his way, not entirely. He presses Jim back against the wall and pulls at his robes, reaching beneath the fabric and finding nothing else there. For a moment, he almost wants to kiss whichever sadistic bastard took Jim's underwear away, along with his Starfleet uniform. Without a barrier to stop him, Bones takes the liberty of groping Jim's cock, which is half-hard already and practically jumps at his touch. Jim groans, his hips bucking forward as he reaches blindly for Bones' towel, pulling it off in one swift motion.

"Fuck, Bones, so hot in the bath every day," Jim mutters, biting at Bones' jaw now, scratching at his hipbones and tracing the trail of dark hair running down his torso to his cock. He wraps his hand around the exposed and needy length before him, stroking firmly. Bones stutters out a moan.

"Always—always wanna touch you back, so bad…" he gasps.

"Touch me, _touch me_ ," Jim practically begs, punctuating his plea with a tug to Bones' cock, and how can he refuse that? He mirrors Jim's hand with his own, shamelessly squeezing his cock as he pumps him to full hardness, teasing the head with a swirling swipe of his thumb. Jim shudders at that and grabs onto Bones for support, then quickly tries to turn the tables, reaching down to slide the fingers of that same clutching hand along Bones' balls. The doctor barely chokes back a gasp, then rucks up Jim's robes, grabbing both of his wrists and pinning them to the wall as their hips align, the friction enough to make them both weak-kneed.

"Oh, no, you don't," Bones snarls, rolling his hips, inwardly fascinated with the way each movement makes Jim's breath hitch, his eyelids flutter. "I told you, _I'm_ in charge here."

Jim struggles to match Bones' heavy thrusts of his hips, looking nearly pained with the effort. "Y-you're m-mad with power," he stutters.

"You love it, Servant James."

" _Fuck_ ," Jim moans. It's as close to an admission of submission as Bones knows he's going to get, but the physical evidence is there as he feels Jim's muscles slacken beneath him, along with the resistance to his grip. Bones feels Jim granting him complete control and it almost makes him dizzy, to know that Jim trusts him with this: his pleasure, his body, his _life_. The sensation of their slick cocks rubbing together is beginning to make them both tremble, but Bones wants Jim to come first. He reaches down to take hold of their cocks but then draws his hand back, wanting to explore just how much control Jim has handed over.

Bones leans in and whispers hotly in Jim's ear, his lips brushing the reddened, warm shell. "Not until the third touch." He brushes his fingers against Jim's inner thigh and feels his muscles tense in anticipation, then quickly caresses the crease of his backside, where rounded flesh meets the start of leg. Then his hand falls away and he's only rutting against Jim, an action he knows damn well is causing Jim to shudder and moan with need—but he's being good, not coming yet, just as Bones ordered. The desire to explode is written all over his face and Bones can't help himself for much longer. He reaches up to ghost a touch along that face and that's when Jim's eyes go wide and stark blue, his body tensing as he arches and comes hard over their stomachs. The sheer fucking _look_ on Jim's face renders Bones useless; he thrusts forward with a groan and releases heavily onto Jim's heated skin, nearly collapsing against him.

In a few moments, Bones makes the hazy realization that his weight is the only thing holding Jim up. When he draws back slightly, the captain is practically limp in his arms, physically down for the count. He looks exhausted and abused—certainly not a condition Bones hasn't seen him in before, but this time, the fault is his own. Yet he can't help but think that Jim looks gorgeous like this, lying supine on the bed after Bones carefully deposits him there, then crawls over his body. He arranges the folds of his robe so as to examine his torso, noticing the push of his ribs against his skin thanks to days of under nourishing meals, and then, the new bruises blooming there. They are _his_ marks, a dose of pain given for the greater good. At least, that's what he and Jim told themselves.

Bones lets his head fall forward, his hair barely tickling Jim's sallow cheek, and wonders how he became this man.

*

Jim opens his eyes blearily when a loud noise echoes into his quarters, which are as dark and dank as ever. It's the sound of a boot kicking his door in. He feels weak but makes the effort to lift his head, catching sight of a royal guard making his way over to the cot. Jim tenses, shielding his eyes from the shards of light streaking into the room.

"What the hell did I do _now_?" he rasps out.

"What haven't you done?" a familiar voice says. Jim blinks to adjust his eyes to the light and squints, recognizing Sulu's face above him. He gapes slightly, which earns him a grin from the lieutenant. "Thanks for covering for me, Jim, but I'll take it from here."

"Yeah, right, I'd like to see you take a…take a whipping."

"Not really my thing, sir, but thanks for the offer."

Jim grunts, half-wondering if he's dreaming as he sits up. Sulu lets him sling an arm over his shoulders and takes his weight, carefully helping him out of the room and into the hallway, where Spock has the remainder of the on-duty guards held still at phaser-point. He turns and regards Jim with an arch of his pointed brow.

"Captain. I see you have enjoyed your stay on Zutra V."

"Don't tell me you learned the finer points of sarcasm while I was gone," Jim huffs.

"We have had to account for the lack of humor onboard the ship in your absence, Jim." Spock's mouth curves ever so slightly, juxtaposed by the flick of his finger on the phaser's trigger as a guard tries to charge at him. The guard is felled without even a blink from the Vulcan. "Do you know the location of Doctor McCoy?"

Jim squints down at the dead guard and then shoves a thumb in the direction of the royal quarters. "In the big fuckin' room reserved for Zutran kings," he drawls. Sulu lifts his brow in surprise and Spock merely nods.

"I will retrieve the doctor. Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Chekov is waiting by the palace doors to aid you in returning the captain to the ship."

"Aye, Commander," Sulu says. He wields his phaser at the royal guards as he starts to steer Jim down the hallway. "Chekov found a distinct location for possible transport back to the ship, Captain," he says. "We'll have you back on the bridge in no time."

Jim exhales heavily, trying to match Sulu's pace. "Right…m'the captain," he says, tiredly.

Sulu gives him a strange but understanding look. "You always were, sir. No one in your crew has forgotten that."

Jim nods and lets Sulu lead him, vaguely registering Chekov and his doting presence when they reach him, a concerned chanting of "Captain, Captain!" in his thick accent. He still thinks he might be dreaming. And he doesn't know where Bones is. He must say it aloud because Chekov says, "You will see him soon," and then they're transporting, and Jim looks up at the palace one last time, knowing Bones is still inside. He moves to extend his arm toward it and in a second, he's pointing to the sterile mechanism of the _Enterprise_ 's interior and a very concerned-looking Mr. Scott, instead. He's home. Now he just has to wait for Bones. His eyes slip closed and he shuts off.

"Watch him, lads, he's gonna—"

He collapses to the transporter pad. Everyone encircles him. He waits for Bones.

*

Bones waits for Jim. It's nearing nightfall now, and Ryela is supposed to bring Jim into his quarters soon. And he needs to see him—he has to apologize for what he did, even if it was in Jim's best interests. This has all gotten out of hand. Ever since they were in the academy, his unspoken mission has been to protect Jim; now it's all gone awry. Even as a king, Bones sees that he can't protect him here.

He sits on the edge of his bed and pushes his fingers into his hair, clenching them. "Damn it, Jim," he whispers, to no one but himself.

Just then, the doors to his quarters burst open and Bones turns quickly, startled by the sudden presence of Spock in his bedroom.

"Doctor McCoy," he says, as simply as that. "I am here to return you and Captain Kirk to the _Enterprise_. We must leave quickly."

"Where's Jim? Is he all right?" Bones asks, rising from the bed.

"He is in the care of Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov. His physical status is less than adequate, but stable. An assessment of his mental status would be pure conjecture at this point in time."

"H-he's hurt…I had to hurt him myself, so they didn't kill him…"

"Doctor, there is little time for conversation. Please follow me out of the palace."

Bones wants to keep babbling, but he knows the hobgoblin's right and they probably have a limited amount of time before they're surrounded by royal guards. He takes a last look at his headdress before following Spock out of the bedroom, looking around for any sign of Jim. He's stopped in his tracks by a desperate pair of hands clutching his arm.

"Leonard," Ryela says. It's the first time she hasn't addressed him as king. Bones turns and looks at her, the sad furrow of her brow and the dark pink hue of her temples. He squints, already knowing what she'll say. "You don't have to go with them," she whispers. "You lead a king's life here…no one will ever speak against you. You can have anything, _anything_." She presses close to him, enough to let Bones know that "anything" means "anyone" and "anyone" means her. He touches her jaw lightly; he's well aware that Spock is growing impatient, even as he stiffly looks on and watches the exchange.

"I want my ship," he whispers, pursing his lips. "My old life…that's what I want. This was never for me. I'm sorry, Ry."

"As am I. Leonard, I… enjoyed serving you." Ryela looks down and then tilts up to brush a feather-soft kiss along his cheekbone, letting him go. "I hope you and James…" She trails off with a slightly embarrassed smile and shakes her head, curtsying to him. "Farewell, my king."

Bones gives her a faint smile in return and nods his thanks, turning back to Spock and taking off with him in a sprint down the hallway.

"I have grown accustomed to tearing the captain away from attractive females of unfamiliar species, Doctor, but I believe this is a first," Spock says. McCoy grunts and rolls his eyes, spotting a guard running after them with a spear.

"Just pay attention to the bad guys trying to kill us, you jolly green giant!"

Spock purses his lips and reaches back to shoot at the charging guard, sending him careening to the floor. "I do not take pleasure in killing other life forms."

"Like hell you don't."

They get outside the palace and Bones looks around wildly for a sign of Jim, Sulu or Chekov. They all appear to be gone. Spock makes contact with the ship and says "Energize" in his flat tone, and soon, they're gone, too—just in time to escape the throngs of Zutrans who have spotted their king and started a mad dash toward him.

Bones grimaces after he transports fully onto the Enterprise, making sure all his fingers and toes are intact. Then he spots the crew loading Jim onto a stretcher, and his breath catches in his throat as they haul him away from the transporter room. Spock appears at his side without warning, like a ghost, but Bones is too wrapped up in the sight before him to really notice.

"They are taking him to the medical bay for further examination. I must escort you there as well, Doctor."

Bones sighs and nods to him. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."

*

The next time Jim opens his eyes, he's greeted by the inquisitive face of his first officer, peering down at him. He nearly jumps out of his skin, if not for the fact that his limbs feel like lead.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Spock… Warn a guy, will ya?"

Spock tilts his head in confusion. "I was unable to prepare you for the sight of my visage due to your unconscious state, Jim."

"Still." Jim wrinkles his nose and as Nurse Chapel comes over to examine him and take readings, it fully hits him that he's back on his ship and off that godforsaken planet. No more servant life, no more shitty little room without light, no more daily sponge baths. Well, that last part wasn't so bad. And speaking of… "Where's Bones?"

"Doctor McCoy has already been examined and sent to rest in his quarters. He did not wish to leave you…" Spock looks up at Chapel, who arches a brow and sighs, scanning Jim's body with a tricorder. "But we assured him you were in stable condition."

Jim exhales, rubbing at his forehead with his palm. "When can I get the hell out of here and back to work?"

"Your sustained injuries were many, Jim, some quite severe and requiring dermal regeneration," Spock says.

"That's right. You're taking the next few days off, at least," Chapel adds. She looks down at him and smiles. "Good to have you back, though, Captain."

"You're a sight for sore eyes yourself, Christine," Jim says, waggling his brows. Chapel rolls her eyes and prods his shoulder lightly.

"See, he's already back to normal," she says, then walks away to leave them alone. Spock nods faintly and looks down at a PADD, taking notes.

"Jim, is your status well enough to answer questions for a report regarding the away mission?"

"What do you want to know?" Jim sighs. "It sucked. Anything else?"

"Doctor McCoy has informed me that you were assigned to be his servant and therefore sustained injuries at the hands of Zutran royal guards, due to insubordination." Spock's gaze travels up again, light amusement in his eyes. "I find this information to be less than surprising."

Jim gives him a fake smile and then shuts his eyes. "Yeah, well. Some people just can't take a joke."

"McCoy's testimony also states that the majority of Zutra V's population is stricken by poverty and widespread hunger, and they are forced to worship blindly."

"S'true. It's a pretty crappy planet. I'm gonna submit a report to the Federation myself about the conditions there…suggest the dismantling of their little priesthood, keeping all the money to themselves and making the people suffer."

"Can you confirm that you were required to submit to Doctor McCoy after he was designated king?"

"Um…yeah," Jim says. The question catches him off-guard and he swallows hard at Spock's choice of words. _Required to submit_. That was one way of putting it. He tries not to imagine the warm feel of Bones' body against his, that domineering tone to his voice. "I had to clean his quarters, make his bed…help him bathe."

Spock lifts his brow at the mumbled admission, flicking his gaze to Jim again. "And if you refused to comply with these orders?"

"I'd get the whip. Or worse. Though I usually got that, anyway." Spock nods at Jim's answer and writes down something that takes a few moments.

"Jim," he says quietly. "The doctor informed me that on one recent occasion, he was the one to deliver physical punishment for your insubordination. Is this correct?"

"No," Jim blurts. He stiffens and looks up at the ceiling, refusing to meet Spock's gaze. "That's not correct."

"Then your assertion is that McCoy provided false information."

"Yes."

"Do you know the reason for such irrational behavior? I fail to see the logic in Doctor McCoy's assertion of this occurrence, given that he has been well instructed in the rules of conduct befitting a Starfleet officer when dealing with—"

" _Spock_ ," Jim says, cutting him off. The first officer raises his brow and gives him a look that could pierce through steel. It's incredibly difficult to lie to Spock; though Jim has pulled it off before, he's never perfected it, and he's not feeling up to mental sparring with a half-Vulcan right now. He motions for Spock to lean closer and when Jim's sure no one else can hear them, he whispers. "He had to do it. They were probably going to kill me…. He's a doctor; he knew what he was doing. He was…he was protecting me. And if I know Bones at all, he probably feels nothing but guilt over having to do it."

Spock listens quietly and draws back after a few moments, regarding his PADD again. "Then it is your conclusion, Jim, that Doctor McCoy acted in your best interests on Zutra V, and reacted to the threat of imminent, possibly fatalistic danger with the most logical course of action?"

"Y-yeah. It is," Jim says, nodding.

"That is my conclusion, as well." Spock nods firmly. "With your permission, Captain, I will delete Doctor McCoy's remarks on the subject matter from the record."

"Permission granted," he whispers, and Spock immediately taps on his PADD, zapping away the guilty admission. Jim exhales heavily. "Thanks, Spock."

"There is no need for gratitude, Jim. But…you are welcome." He stands from his chair and nods again, regarding Jim. "I believe I speak for the entire crew when I say that your return to the ship has been deemed as most favorable, and that the promise of an efficient recovery is strongly anticipated."

Jim can't help but smile at how Spock can manage to turn a simple sentiment like "Get well soon" into a multisyllabic, vocabulary orgy. He did miss that. "I'll be back in my chair and giving you hell in no time, Spock."

"I…would find that most satisfactory, Jim."

Even after Spock takes his leave, the smile doesn't leave Jim's face. He's already looking forward to telling Bones all about what just happened…when he feels a little less like driftwood, that is. For now, he'll just have to wait.

*

Bones wakes up with a start before he realizes that he's off for the next couple of days and he doesn't have to worry about missing his shift. He rolls onto his back and regards the plain, modest interior of his quarters: a few plants "though not nearly as many as in Sulu's room), his ridiculously comfortable leather armchair, framed photos: mostly of Joanna and one of himself and Jim, back from their academy days. Bones looks a bit drunk in the photo, his eyes half-closed in the face of the flash, but Jim sports his usual shit-eating grin, the one that says: _One day, you're all going to know my name_.

His breath comes shaky with the realization that Jim could have died down there, in a place where no one knew him and no one cared. No one deserves that kind of fate, especially not a man as great as James T. Kirk.

"Computer," he says. "Lights on, 45 percent."

The room lights up with a soft, warming glow, and Bones extracts himself from his bed, going to his armchair and picking up a PADD. His staff was incredibly happy to have him back safe and sound, and even happier to give him back all the paperwork they'd taken on in his absence. He leans back with a sigh, ready to catch himself up on all that he missed, when a passing thought nags at him.

"Computer. What is the location of Captain James T. Kirk?"

"James Tiberius Kirk is currently located in the medical bay," comes the robotic reply. Bones nods, surprised that Jim hasn't tried to break out somehow. He's got to get down there and visit him, he knows, and he figures he'll take a half-hour or so to get a little bit of his work out of the way before getting dressed and heading out. Jim's probably catching up on some necessary R&R anyway. He nods again, pleased with the plan, and looks to his PADD, scanning a few paragraphs before closing his eyes.

He blinks awake when the door alert sounds and realizes he just nodded off for two hours. Maybe he needed more sleep after all.

"Audio on," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "Who's there?"

"It's Jim."

Bones sits up, nearly dropping the PADD on the floor. He gets to the door quickly and presses a button to open it. Sure enough, there stands his "companion," out of those disgusting, filthy robes and dressed instead in a worn T-shirt and boxers. He's still sporting some bruises but otherwise looks like his old self. Bones trusts that Chapel got him fed, too, as he's got some color back in his face.

"What're you doing out of Sickbay?" he asks.

"Couldn't let the afternoon go by without your sponge bath," Jim says, smiling easily. He motions to Bones, standing there in just his boxers. "And you're already mostly ready."

"That's all done with now," Bones says, shaking his head and stepping back to let his old friend enter the room. The door whooshes shut behind him. "And you didn't answer my question, Jim."

"M'Benga and Chapel said I could leave a little early if I promised to take it easy for a few days. I didn't threaten anyone's lives or shift schedules, don't worry."

"Hmph."

Bones runs a hand through his hair and then finally takes a good look at Jim. He's thinner than he should be, but the muscle tone is still there, along with the good humor. The cocky smirk, though, not as much. Jim's emotions are written all over his face, and Bones can tell it's taking a lot for Jim not to launch himself forward, into his arms. Luckily, that's exactly what he wants, too. He holds out a hand to Jim, gesturing to him with the other, murmuring, "Come on, now," and Jim takes the invitation immediately, molding himself to Bones and pressing his features into the crook of his neck. Bones reaches up, cradling the back of Jim's head protectively when he shivers, holding him as tightly as he dares. He knows that they each left a part of themselves down there on that horrific planet, back in those gaudy, lavish royal quarters where they laid together night after night, needing each other so much that they were almost afraid to touch.

"S'over, Jim," Bones whispers. His own breath threatens to choke him. There's so much he needs to say and he doesn't have the faintest idea how to begin. "I—I'm so fucking _sorry_ …"

"I knew what you were doing," Jim says, splaying his hands over Bones' back. His palms feel so hot against his skin. "I understand…and I told Spock to take it out of his report."

"You…you did?"

"Fuck yes, I did. I'm not letting you get in trouble for saving my life. That would be illogical." He smirks faintly up at Bones, rubbing his back soothingly. Bones doesn't even know what to do, beyond kissing the top of Jim's head affectionately.

"You're so…I don't even know, kid." Bones shuts his eyes for a moment, burying his nose against Jim's crown. He takes a deep breath and then pats Jim's back. "Okay, smelly. That's what you are."

Jim laughs and parts slightly from Bones, wrinkling his nose. "Yeah, I guess it's been a while since someone threw some water on me."

Bones nods and takes Jim carefully by the wrist. "Well, I've got an idea, then." He leads him to the bathroom and kneels to plug the drain in the tub, starting to fill it with hot water. He squints up at Jim and smiles. "How 'bout this time, I give you the sponge bath?"

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Jim quips, leaning his weight against the sink. Bones can tell he's still pretty exhausted from their adventure. He pours soap into the water and then stands, slowly running his hands over Jim's sides before gently pulling up on the T-shirt, taking it off.

"I think you deserve some royal treatment," he murmurs. Jim sighs and Bones swears he can see the captain's knees tremble.

"Bones," he says after a moment. "We never even really talked about this…"

"Way I see it," Bones drawls, "there's not much to talk about." He smoothes his hands over Jim's torso, the skin there golden despite the recent lack of exposure to light. Bones can still feel his ribs, slightly more pronounced than usual, but he knows that'll go away soon, once Jim goes back to eating steak and potatoes again. Jim shivers when Bones' hands travel over the discolored areas, minimal now thanks to Chapel's administrations. He's still Jim Kirk, gorgeous as ever, if not a bit worse for wear—his captain again, no longer a mere servant. "Unless there's something in particular that you want to say."

"There is, actually," Jim says. He runs his hands over Bones' biceps and looks at him seriously. "There's no one—in the universe—whom I trust more than you. Which is why I didn't mind giving up control to you." He swallows thickly and shrugs one shoulder. "You…gave me something I didn't know I needed."

Bones pauses, looking back at Jim and studying his expression. That was the last thing he expected to hear, but it's not bad at all. In fact, it gives him the kind of warm, fuzzy feeling inside that he's told himself a million times he's not capable of getting. He knows that he and Jim have always needed each other in a twisted, codependent, unnatural way, but this is the first time one of them has actually admitted it. And it doesn't make Bones want to run away, screaming. Well, that's a start.

"S'what I'm here for, Jim," he says. He pushes Jim's boxers down his hips, letting him step out of them and sliding his thumbs over his pronounced hipbones. "Not to serve you or any of that crap. But to give you what you need when you don't know you need it. Like relaxation or…protection. Or…"

"Blowjobs?" Jim whispers, looking hopeful. Bones laughs sharply and leans over to turn off the tap.

"Get in the tub, kid."

Jim grins and does as he's told, getting into the bath with Bones' help and sinking down carefully into the water. He lets out a faint moan at the temperature that mingles with his odd sensation of déjà vu and goes straight to Bones' cock. Once Jim is settled, Bones gets out of his boxers as quickly as he can and goes to join him, sitting behind Jim and letting him move between his legs, leaning his back against Bones' chest. Bones dunks a nearby sponge into the soapy water and then runs it over Jim's chest slowly in wide circles, slipping it beneath his arms and down his sides. It's not bad at all to be on this side of the coin, especially when Jim is so vocal about his enjoyment, something that Bones couldn't do with other people in the room—he moans and arches against Bones, sliding his hands over the doctor's hip and tipping his head back against his shoulder. Bones has a perfect view of Jim's mouth, shiny and open in naked relief. He wants nothing more than to claim that mouth with his own, but the point is to get Jim clean, and he wants to do that first. He moves the sponge to Jim's shoulders, down his arms and around to his back, carefully bathing the recently regenerated skin there, making sure to be exceedingly gentle. He grabs the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub and gets a good foam going in Jim's hair, scrubbing with long strokes of his fingers to lift the grunge and dirt from his scalp. It doesn't hurt that each swipe of his fingertips makes Jim shudder in pleasure.

"That's my boy," he murmurs, right behind the shell of Jim's ear. "My gorgeous boy."

"Bones," Jim says, in a half-sigh, half-whisper.

"Jim." Bones cups water in his palms to rinse out his hair. "You know you never have to worry with me, yeah? Never have to hesitate to ask for what you want…even if you just need to give up control for a while."

"Yeah…"

Jim drops his head back when Bones is done, mouthing at the side of his neck, and _god_ , that's his sweet spot, right there. Jim and his goddamn _mouth_ —he dips his hands in the water and retrieves the sponge with one, running it over the length of Jim's cock, already hard and heavy against his stomach, and pushes the non-soapy fingers of the other between those spit-slick lips, letting Jim suck them fiercely. It becomes increasingly difficult to focus on cleaning him with that snakelike tongue swirling between and around his fingers the way it is, and he can't help but curl the sponge around Jim's length, stroking him in time with the gentle thrust of his fingers in and out of Jim's mouth. Jim's moan is appreciative and low, his hips twitching their own approval, and Bones' voice drops to a low, husky pitch in response as he pulls his fingers back.

"This is what you want, Jim…? To suck and be fucked at the same time? You can tell me. You can tell me anything, beautiful boy…"

"Yes, Bones…god, _yes_ …"

The crackling sound of Jim's voice is enough to egg Bones on and he drops the sponge, replacing it with his palm. He moves his hand steadily and hooks their ankles together to spread Jim's legs further apart, opening him up. Jim gasps and clings to Bones, practically floating in the water as he pushes into the doctor's grasp, but not enough to try and wrestle his control away—everything is different now than it was back at the palace. Jim is pliant and needy in his grasp and his lips taste sinful when Bones finally bows his head to kiss him deeply. He dips a finger down along Jim's perineum as he plumbs his mouth with his tongue, and that sets Jim shaking. A simple twist of Bones' wrist and a press of that same roaming fingertip against his entrance and Jim is releasing into the water, a soundless cry echoing from his throat and down into Bones' lungs.

They lie there trembling in the water for a few minutes, and Bones strokes Jim's hair back from his forehead, ignoring his own erection in favor of letting Jim rest. He pulls the plug from the drain behind him so the water recedes, then reaches out for the nearest towel, wrapping it around Jim, gently scrubbing at his hair. Jim smiles tiredly and burrows against his chest with a quiet sigh; it's damn near the cutest thing Bones has ever seen and he can't wait to tell Jim about it later so he can properly mock him.

Once he's gotten them both dry, Bones carefully lifts a much-lighter-than-usual Jim into his arms and carries him into his bedroom, depositing him on the bed. "Lights at 10 percent," he says to the computer, and the room dims considerably as he crawls onto the bed behind Jim. He wraps himself around the warmed, pliant body beside him and kisses behind Jim's ear, nuzzling his shampoo-scented hairline.

"Jim," he whispers, pressing subtly against his backside. Jim makes a small, questioning sound and Bones can't help but smile. "Am I still in control?"

"Yeah…" Jim exhales, on the verge of sleep. Bones noses against the back of his neck, rocking his hips forward and making Jim moan quietly. "Fuck me, Bones," he whispers.

He doesn't have to ask twice. It's incredibly arousing to Bones, knowing that he's about to fuck Jim while he's half-asleep, and he fumbles for the lube stored in his bedside drawer in excitement. He slicks his fingers and uses his palm to spread Jim's cheeks apart, circling his entrance before sliding one finger inside. Jim's muscles only tense for a moment and then relax; his entire body seems to yield to Bones' desire, allowing him to take what he needs. He adds a second finger and crooks them deep inside Jim, causing the captain to groan faintly against the Bones-scented bed sheets.

"God, Jim, you're so fuckin' beautiful like this…could come right now, just looking at you, all spread out for me and barely awake." He slicks up his cock with his free hand and exhales hotly, kissing along the small of Jim's back. "Gonna fuck you so deep…so you wake up tomorrow and feel it and know you belong to me."

Jim shudders under Bones' weight and whispers a breathy plea that ascends to a whimpering moan when Bones spreads his thighs apart and pushes inside him, burying himself to the hilt. It feels so fucking good that Bones has to steady himself so as not to come immediately, so he can enjoy this properly. He lays a hand on Jim's back for leverage and starts to thrust slowly; Jim is relaxed but still tight enough to provide delicious friction. Bones knows that it will feel just as good when Jim is fully alert and awake, if not better, but whatever this moment lacks in physicality, it's more than made up for in the knowledge that Jim is submitting to him fully, his trust so true and pure that he's allowing Bones to claim him at his most vulnerable moment. Bones' cock twitches inside Jim at the very thought of it and he snaps his hips forward, fucking Jim harder into the bed. Jim takes it, takes everything, with breathy moans and rhythmic pulses of his muscles around Bones' length, reeling him in deeper.

"Fuck, Jim, _fuck_ …so good, perfect," Bones mumbles. He can't recall if he's ever been this vocal during sex before; something about Jim makes it near impossible for him to stifle himself. He half wonders if Jim can even hear it, wherever his headspace is right now. His lips are parted and a dark spot is growing on the sheet beneath his mouth, spreading with every hot and damp exhalation. The mere sight is enough to drive Bones crazy. He reaches up and curls his fingers tightly in Jim's hair, rocking harder and having his fill of Jim's inviting depths. Jim gasps on a particularly deep thrust and briefly tightens around him, and Bones knows that he's found his highly sensitive prostate. He keeps the same angle and thrusts repeatedly, until it's clear that Jim is definitely not asleep anymore and grinding his hips into the bed, now moaning Bones' name. It's an extremely pleasant change of pace and Bones licks his lips in satisfaction.

"Bones, yeah…fuck me, you hot bastard…ah, _god_ …"

"Yeah, Jim, you awake now? You gonna come again for me, with my cock deep in your ass like this…?"

"Y-yeah, gonna…m'gonna…"

Bones presses Jim's head down against the bed and mashes his cheek against the sheets as he fucks him harder, inspired by the shortness of Jim's breath and his desperate movements beneath him. He can feel Jim losing control, bucking into the bed every time Bones' cock brushes his prostate and grabbing the sheets with shaking fingers, tugging them up from their careful tuck beneath the mattress. The captain has completely lost his handle on the English language and any of the other languages he knows, and he murmurs a series of senseless syllables before wailing Bones' name and stiffening beneath him. Bones succumbs to the sight of Jim releasing just as easily as he did in the palace, allowing the world to go starry and white around him, releasing all control with one final thrust.

A few hours later, Bones opens his eyes halfway and is greeted by the sight of a sleeping Jim curled around him. He smells of soap and sex, and it's the best aroma in the world, even better than freshly brewed coffee in the morning. If anyone has needed either of them, they haven't bothered to make contact, and for that, Bones is grateful; they need their alone time. He thinks of Ryela and how she seemed to simply _know_. Smart girl. He senses he might miss her now and then, though he certainly won't miss his royal status. This is all he needs, right here, in this room, in his arms. He feels more like a king right now than he ever did before. Though—and he smirks with the thought—he supposes that makes Jim the queen. He makes a mental note to mention that to Jim once he's awake, along with that funny thing he did in the bathtub. Right now, he's too cute to disturb, all rumpled and snuggled close, so he simply strokes his hair and watches him sleep.

This time, he waits for Jim.


End file.
